Daily insights for city builders, delivered every morning at 6 AM ET. I’m Brandon Donnelly — a Toronto-based real estate developer and founder of Globizen. I’ve been writing here since 2013.
This is a photo taken from the base village of Val Thorens. I took it while we were sitting on a massive terrace in the middle of it. But what stood out to me even more than the terrace itself was the buildings that frame it. They are all about 8-9 storeys, have no step-backs, and were clearly orchestrated to create a defined “street wall.”
These framing buildings can be just as important as the public spaces themselves; they form the “walls” of the public realm and create a sense of enclosure. In this case, the buildings also follow a similar aesthetic. They were designed to pay homage to traditional Savoyard architecture, which is known for its use of local woods and stones.
The other thing I find noteworthy is that all of this is only about 50-some years old. Val Thorens the resort opened in 1971. And it only became an idea sometime around 1969 when Pierre Schneblelen — an engineer and developer — decided that he wanted to build Europe’s highest ski resort. (The base of the resort sits at 2,300 m and the peak elevation is 3,230 m.)
As time passes, it’s easy to take these kinds of places and experiences for granted. But they only exist because someone, at some point, had a vision. And when that vision was initially presented, it was probably perceived by many, or by most, to be crazy. That’s just how these things go, and so I like reminding myself of that.
Kelly Alvarez Doran shared this article with me on Twitter earlier today. It talks about some of the work that his design studios are doing at the University of Toronto around embodied carbon. More specifically though, his studios are being tasked with figuring out how to halve the carbon emissions generated by new buildings during this decade.
And one of the big findings from his studio is exactly the title of this post: our buildings have become carbon icebergs. Here in Toronto, we tend to build a lot of below-grade parking. We recently got rid of parking minimums (which obviously needed to happen), but the market still demands it in certain areas and for certain projects. So we continue to build it.
What the above section drawings are showing is the percentage of carbon emissions resulting from the below-grade construction component in each project. And as you can see, the numbers are significant, particularly in the case of smaller mid-rise buildings where you don’t have a lot of above-grade area to grow the denominator.
Looking at 2803 Dundas Street West, which is just down the street from our Junction House project, the number is 50%! And sadly, I would guess that our project is probably only marginally better; we’re a bit taller up top, but we also have a raft slab foundation and a watertight below-grade.
This is one of the reasons why I recently tried to make the case for above-grade parking. A big part of my argument was that if we want parking that can be adapted to other uses in the future, and if we want to reduce the embodied carbon in our buildings, then we should be building “unwrapped” above-grade parking. That is, parking which isn’t hidden behind other uses.
But this is often frowned upon in planning circles and it’s not going to be feasible in smaller mid-rise buildings like the ones shown here. We’re also just talking about what is less bad. What we really ought to be doing is trying to build our cities so that people don’t need to rely so heavily on cars to get around.
On the exact same day last week, the Toronto Star published two articles about housing. The first one, this one here, is about how “Toronto has protected huge parts of the city from anything denser than detached or semi-detached houses” and how this has resulted in an “uneven city.” The second article, this opinion piece, is about the “many repercussions to replacing little bungalows.” And one of the implied repercussions is that 3-storey sun blockers that invade privacy might actually kill people. Hmm.
In effect, these are the two sides of this debate. If you zoom out and look at Toronto, you will largely see a contrasting and uneven city of tall buildings and low-rise housing. Instead of building like Paris, which is consistently mid-rise — but also far denser on average than Toronto — we have chosen peaks and large plains to constrain new housing. And if you zoom in across those plains, you’ll find many areas without sidewalks, along with people, such as the author of the second article above, who believe that nothing more than a single storey is appropriate for human health.
All of this has persisted because it has been politically popular. But time continues to show us that it actually runs counter to our goals of building an inclusive and globally competitive city region. Thankfully, it feels like we are finally reaching a tipping point.
Michael Beach used to have a YouTube channel where he “looked at Google Maps a lot.” Meaning, he would pan around various cities and comment on their planning and overall built form. Technically the channel still exists, but he stopped making new videos a few years ago. Here is one where he talks about Dubai being “an absolute mess” (3.8 million views) and here is one where he looks at North York (in Toronto) and asks: “why is it here?”
The most important point from his North York video is that it illustrates the deep divide that exists in Toronto (and other North American cities) between single-family “Neighbourhoods” (a defined planning term) and higher-density transit nodes, where things like tall buildings are allowed to go.
In the case of North York, this contrast is perhaps at its most stark. Even the street network is designed to stop these two urban forms from commingling with each other too much. There are ring roads that surround the transit-oriented density, and separate, more suburban streets on the other side of it:
This contrast is why there are so many people talking about the “missing middle.” And I’m sure that if you started asking random people on the street, most would agree that it would be nice if we could build more moderately-scaled housing. You know, like those buildings you see in Paris.
The problem: Where should it go? Some people would probably suggest the left side of the above ring road. Just don’t build as tall, okay? But this kind of land is already a scarce commodity in a city like Toronto. We need these tall buildings because most of the city is codified to look like the right side of the above ring road.
So if we have any chance of actually finding the missing middle, it is going to need to happen here, on the right side. Some progress has been made, not just in Toronto but across North America, with accessory dwellings (laneway suites). But it’s not going to be enough.
This was simply a first step. It was us finding a solution to, “how can we add some more housing here without changing the look and feel and character of these residential streets in any way?” But even this small and incremental change has proven to be exceedingly controversial. People still react to new laneway suites like this:
If you’re a homeowner that decides to create a new rental home at the rear of your property, you might be viewed as greedy. You are creating something (a home) that someone needs, and you intend to make a small margin on the transaction. It’s like making and selling bread for a small margin, except that selling delicious bread to people is typically viewed in a positive light. On the other hand, ensuring that the value of your house remains as high as possible is generally good practice here. Greed doesn’t factor in this way because, you know, single-family homes.
There is no surprise why the missing middle is missing. It is missing because we have decided that we want it to be. But hey, $2,145 per month seems like a very reasonable price for a 2-bedroom house.
So, I of course think this is silly. But here’s a claim that living in high-rises — that is, buildings with elevators — is bad for people’s physical and mental health:
In the midst of a Vancouver civic election where housing is a hot issue, Vancouver councillor and mayoral candidate Colleen Hardwick stated that “highrises are not good for people’s physical and mental health.”
Last week we asked Hardwick to expand further on her views about health and building types. She told The Tyee she believes highrises radically reduce chance encounters between people because they separate people from the street and from each other.
“Ground-oriented housing typologies are ideal,” she said, referring to housing that allows a resident to reach their place of residence using stairs, perhaps, but not an elevator.
Apparently what happens when you get into an elevator is that you immediately lose your ability to interact meaningfully with other humans. Yeah, I’m not the only one who disagrees:
“Coun. Hardwick is cherry-picking her data” about highrise living and the isolating effects of structures with elevators, accused urbanist and author Charles Montgomery. A six-storey building with an elevator, he told The Tyee, is “the most social place I’ve ever lived.”
Cities, it turns out, are complicated. And there are always trade-offs to be made. During the pandemic, some people thought it would be nice to live in a ground-oriented home in the country and now they are realizing that the country lacks things like amenities and, you know, other people.
Personally, I will happily take an elevator over a soul-crushing commute to a home without one. I also agree with Charles that multi-family buildings can be very social.
Building height and density are not one and the same. You can have tall buildings configured in a low-density way (think post-war towers in the park). And you can have low/mid-rise buildings configured in a high-density way (think Paris and Barcelona). This is one of the reasons why it is important to decouple density and tallness when thinking about our cities.
This line of thinking is the approach that a recent study took when trying to determine the optimal built form for minimizing climate impact. In the study they define four building typologies: 1) high density, high-rise, 2) low density, high-rise, 3) high density, low-rise, and 4) low density, low-rise.
What they found was that taller environments tend to have higher life cycle GHG emissions, but that lower-density environments are (obviously) far more land consumptive. To determine life cycle GHG emissions they looked at both embodied and operating emissions, which is why the taller stuff didn’t score as well under their methodology. There’s typically a lot of concrete and steel in tall buildings.
This lead the team to conclude that if you want to optimize around climate impact, you should probably aim for that perfect middle ground: dense, but not super tall.
But as Joe Cortright (City Observatory) rightly pointed out in his email newsletter, one of the big limitations of this analysis is that it does not consider transportation-related impacts. And since we know that transportation is one of if not the largest source of GHG emissions and that how we get around is heavily dependent on land use patterns, it is probably an important piece to consider.
I was recently having a discussion on Twitter about midrise buildings and architect Dermot Sweeny raised the important distinction between creating “spines” and creating “districts.”
What he was referring to with “spines” was the way in which Toronto is intensifying its “Avenues” with midrise buildings. It is a kind of linear form of intensification which almost always means that each building must transition in some way to the low-rise housing that typically abuts our Avenues. This is far less relevant in districts.
We have started to increase housing supply in our “Neighborhoods” through things like laneway houses and garden suites, but in most cases, we are arguably not creating urban districts.
This is of course a touchy subject. But I think it’s an important discussion to be having for a number reasons:
Increasing housing supply is a good thing
Angular planes and other transition measures make housing more expensive
Urban places are, I would argue, better defined through districts rather than spines
Mixed-use (employment) becomes more viable with districts
Transit infrastructure is better utilized with radial density around its stations
This is a good follow-up to my recent post about the barriers to developing mid-rise here in Toronto. I have just learned (thanks to Michael Mortensen) that Vancouver has proposed some specific zoning changes that are intended to increase the supply of new rental housing.
Oddly enough, some of these proposed changes are consistent with what I put forward in my post and include 1) streamlining the development approvals process and 2) simplifying the allowable built form. i.e. Fewer step-backs.
Here’s a capture from the report that went to City Council:
The report is dated May 2020 and I truthfully don’t know the current status of these proposed changes. I’m sure Michael would have all of the details. But regardless, the report very clearly acknowledges that lengthy entitlement timelines are a barrier to new rental housing, as are more complicated building forms. Speed and simplicity can go a long way.
I love mid-rise buildings. I think they are an incredibly livable scale of housing, which is why I am looking forward to moving into Junction House when we begin occupancies next year. But as we have talked about many times before on the blog, the mid-rise economics are challenging in this city, which is why we also don’t have any other Avenue-style mid-rise projects in the pipeline right now. We haven’t been able to find land where the math works.
For well over two decades, Toronto’s official plan has called for transit-oriented intensification along the “Avenues,” much of it expected in the form of mid-rise apartments that can be approved “as of right” – meaning without zoning or official plan appeals. Such buildings are often seen as more livable and human scale than 50- or 60-storey towers.
Yet, ironically, the highly prescriptive Mid-Rise Guidelines – combined with skyrocketing land, labour and building costs, as well as timelines that can run to six years for a mid-sized building – have turned these projects into pyramid-shaped unicorns, often filled with deep, dark and narrow units dubbed “bowling alleys.”
“The economics are so frail,” says architect Dermot Sweeny, founding principal of Sweeny & Co., who describes the angular plane requirements as “a massive cost” because they make the structure more complicated and expensive while reducing the amount of leasable or saleable floor space.
The critiques extend beyond the industry. Professor of architecture Richard Sommer, former dean of the John H. Daniels Faculty of Landscape, Architecture and Design at the University of Toronto, describes the controls in the guidelines as “very crude.” “They’re built around a mindset of deference to low-rise communities.”
My opinion is that, at a minimum, we need to revisit the “guidelines” that govern these kinds of projects and we need to make this scale of development “as-of-right.” In the same way that laneway suites work, where you simply apply for a building permit, we need to make it just as easy for mid-rise housing. There just too many barriers and too many opportunities for something to come up that could hold up the entire project for months or years.
Building at a variety of scales is important for the fabric and vitality of our cities. Unfortunately, I have all but made up my mind that small doesn’t work unless it’s as-of-right. I would love to build another laneway house and I fully expect that to happen at some point in the near future. But I just can’t seem to get my head around another mid-rise building right now. I wish that wasn’t the case. And it’s certainly not because of a lack of effort.
